Calliope's ex-boyfriend, her high school sweetheart, crash-landed back into her life like a rom-com sequel she never ordered, ready to rewrite the script of her existence once again.
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"You...
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"You think she's okay?" I hear Margot's voice, though I can't see her. That's my own issue. Opening my eyes feels like an exhausting task, one that requires facing my reality. Besides, I have a pounding headache that throbs against my skull, so for now, I'll remain hidden in the darkness behind my eyelids.
How much did I drink last night?
"She hasn't moved, Noelle," Margot says, sounding worried. "She was too busy playing mixologist, and to make matters worse, Mario was just enabling her. Can you believe it? Acting all nice, contributing to her potential demise."
Noelle chuckles. "She always mixes. She never learned her lesson since college, but maybe her old ass will finally learn this time. You don't think she's dead, right?"
"No! Cal can't die. Absolutely not. She's the one who keeps me grounded and calm. I can't lose someone right now. Oh, God... who will cover her share of the rent? We're going to end up homeless. I guess I'll have to butter up my mom."
Great. Now she's hyperventilating.
I feel utterly depleted, as if someone took a vacuum and sucked out every trace of life within me. From the start, I've always been the composed and level-headed friend, but in this moment, I can't help but wish to be more like Noelle—react first, think later. I held back with Chase last night, but honestly, he doesn't deserve that kind of leniency.
Once again, I sense myself descending into a dark abyss, and it terrifies me. I'm afraid to open my eyes and confront the emotions I buried so deeply that not even God himself could uncover them.
I don't want to cry or suffer anymore. Not for him. Not for the guy I thought I knew, who changed right before my very eyes. Screw him and his stupid, handsome face. Ugh!
I'm strong. I can do this, right?
"Breathe, Margot. She's not dead. See..."
Before she can smack me, which I know she will, I open my eyes. "Hands to yourself, Noelle," I mutter in barely a voice.
Margot gasps, leaning in as if about to give me a hug, but then hesitates. "Actually, let's save the hug for later," she suggests, scrunching her face like I stink. "So glad you're not dead."
"No, but I feel like it," I say.
There's a surge of pain coursing through my head the second the sun meets my eyes. I squint, using the inside of my arm to block the sun. As they stare at me, I'm trying to find happy places in my mind. Like that time I dyed my hair emerald green, because why the hell not? Or when I used to paint and draw freely because I loved it and was so good at it. I still carry my sketchbook, hoping inspiration comes to me, but it never does.
I can't bring myself to get back into it. Annnnd I'm back in that hole.
Noelle pushes my hair away from my face like a mother would her child. "Well, you drank more than three men put together," she says matter-of-factly.
